Owl Post
by IrrelevantLogic
Summary: Letters from various characters to friends, enemies, lovers, family members. Ideas, secrets, in-jokes, thought processes, all as IC as possible. Canon ships.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: So, simple enough premise. You give me a letter-writer and letter-recipient, and I'll write it. You can also add details, like time it was written, subject of letter, reason for writing, and so on. Either party may, at the time of writing, be dead.**

**Warning: All (or most) letters will be as IC as I can contrive.**

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_To Severus Snape from Lily Potter, dated October 27, 1981_

Dear Sev,

Of all the things I regret, I regret losing you the most.

You were a big part of my life. You were my dearest friend. For years and years I always went to you with my problems, my questions, my jokes, and you were always there. I used to spend my free time trying to think of ways to make you smile. Sometimes—not very often, but sometimes—I wonder whether I gave all that up for a foolish reason. You made some mistakes, but so does everyone, and we can't get mad at everyone. Of course, it's also true that not everyone's mistakes include embracing fanatically genocidal elitist ideologies.

But in light of recent revelations, I find myself wondering whether it wouldn't be possible to forgive you even that. I know you spend your life protecting me and people like me, now. And I hear from Dumbledore—oftener and oftener, it seems—just how much you are doing to protect Harry. He says that your life is in constant danger, that one mistake could mean your death. Please believe me, I'm grateful for that.

But now I know _why_ you do it. None of it's for Harry or those other people at all, is it? It's just for me.

Dumbledore told me. I don't know why; maybe he wanted me to understand. I haven't told James. I wish I knew whether it were true. For years my clearest memory of you has been that day in fifth year, so sometimes I think it can't be true…and then I remember the way you used to look at me. I remember how desperately you clung to my friendship—me, a mudblood—even after I told you to get lost. So maybe it is true.

But I remember other things, too, about that day. I remember that you didn't care about whether what you'd said was right or wrong; all you cared about was that it had hurt _my_ feelings, and that _I_ didn't want to be your friend anymore. You never apologised for thinking in that derogatory way; you apologised for _saying_ it, to _me_.

Dumbledore keeps telling me how much you've changed. I wonder if you've really changed at all. You still don't care about right and wrong—you just care about me. _I'm_ different, _I'm_ special, _I'm_ no ordinary mudblood. But Sev…that doesn't make you a better person. You don't think killing Muggles is wrong, you just think that it offends and endangers _me_. You wouldn't care what happened to Harry or James, as long as _I_ got out of it all right. In the end, even when you finally, _finally_ make the right choice, it's still for an essentially selfish reason.

If all this is just for me, you can forget it. Go back to your precious Voldemort and your precious pureblood supremacy. If you want to kill Muggles, kill Muggles; in the end it won't make a difference, after all. I'm never going to love you and I don't want anything you give me.

I wrote that last night and then went to bed, and when I woke up I just stared at it for a long time. I thought about crumpling this whole letter and starting again, but I decided to leave it.

You have to understand how I feel. I've spent my whole life trying to do the right thing, trying to be good to everyone, trying to make the world better. And now I find out you've spent _your_ whole life trying to be good to _me_. Can you see how that would seem kind of petty?

Not that I'm not flattered. I am. But why couldn't you have made the right decision for something _other_ than me?

Maybe I'm just being silly, splitting hairs. I mean, what does it matter, really, _why_ you do what you do? Maybe it's the same, as long as you're doing the right thing. And maybe the fact that you're doing it for me should mean…more. To be honest, in some ways I just can't believe that you would put yourself in danger for _me_. It's such a weird feeling, like I have power over someone's life. I'm not sure whether it's romantic or terrifying or both.

Anyway, the point I'm trying to make through all this is that…I am _trying_ to forgive you. I would like nothing better than to be friends again, to try to make you smile again. Dumbledore says he's never seen you smile—that's a miserable thing to say of any man. I don't know if a complete reconciliation is possible right now, but maybe someday? Maybe we could see each other sometime, and talk.

You could come see little Harry. I'll send James away, if you like. Sometimes I could just kill him when I think about the way he used to treat you. He's changed, he really has, but of course I couldn't expect you to realise that, you always could hold a grudge.

I left off again there for a few days. I've been doing a lot of thinking, and talking to James. I'm beginning to realise that if loving me is _all_ you're doing, then maybe that's enough. I mean, that's quite a lot, to love another person. I've loved a lot of people and all of them—including you, especially you—were hard work. And if it brings you back to right and good, if it maybe helps you to be better…well, there's not much that's purer than love, is there?

I'm sorry, I just realised how that must sound, like I'm using your love to make you do things. I don't want to use you. I just so badly want us to be on the same side again. If this change is honest—if you've really left the Dark Lord—I think I can forgive you.

Do you think you could make it for dinner sometime next week? You really should meet the child you're protecting. I think I may be forgiven for finding him the most charming baby in the world. And maybe…maybe we could just have a talk. There are some things I want to tell you, and something I—we—want to ask.

Love (still)

Lily

_Note: this letter was presumably complete on or around October 31, shortly before the writer was killed and the house in which she lived partially destroyed. In June 1998, the abovementioned Harry returned to his parents' house to live and discovered the unsent letter while cleaning._


	2. Chapter 2

**This is for PJoHoOFan!**

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_Draco Malfoy to Narcissa Malfoy, dated 23 April, 1997_

I'm frightened.

I don't think I can do it.

I've been trying and trying but just when I think I'm making progress the whole thing breaks again like it think it's funny and then I just get so _angry_. I've been working on it hours and hours every day, every night, day after day after day after day when I should be in class, all the time, all the _time_, doing little niggling things and trying to make any progress at all but nothing works, I spend half my time in the library and the rest of it in the Room, trying and trying and trying. Do you know how many spells I know? Thousands, hundreds of thousands, more spells than words, and I've used them and used them until my throat is dry and I can barely gasp another and my arm is dead and my mind is clouded and all the magic drains away like blood, I feel it leaving. I know it can't but I know it is. I'm losing it, I'm losing everything, I'm losing my mind. I can't eat or sleep or think, I can't think, I can't concentrate, my mind is slipping away and everything goes back to that bloody cabinet, round and round it spins in my head until I can't see anything else. I've tried everything, _everything_.

I physically can't do more than I've already done. I don't understand. The cabinet is repaired, it's whole, I test it with every charm I know and it always comes out just fine, and then I try to send something through and it breaks or dies or collapses. Every single time. And it's always something different, it's like every time I think I've _finally_ got some inclination of what's happening something _else_ goes wrong and I'm more lost than ever. And every day, every second, I see Father's face when we went to see him and Mother, Mother it frightens me. He looked like hell and I can't bear to think of him in that place, it's like burning in my head, what if _one_ Dementor gets careless and I lose my father forever? Hours and hours, days, weeks, months, all _year_ I've spent on this cabinet, I dream about it sleeping and waking I've seen it a thousand different ways I know it inside and out I could count the panels on every wall and the knots in every board with my eyes closed because it's burned on the back of my skull with fire but I can't _affect_ it in anyway, not that I've not already done, changing it back and forth and back and forth the same two useless ways over and over again like a bell ringing, back and forth and back and forth and never once a real change. Every time I think I've got _something_ I become more and more excited and every time it fails, time after time after bloody time, hundreds of thousands of times, it gets worse and worse. I'm running out of time. I don't have time. He'll die, you'll die, I'll die. I'm frightened. There's no _time_, I hear the tick of the clock and it's like death coming nearer, and then I have to rush to the Room to work more and more but nothing helps and nothing changes and time keeps on going faster and faster and every second I waste brings me, you, him, all of us, closer and closer to death and there's nothing, nothing, _nothing_ I or anyone can do to stop it oh god I'm afraid I'm afraid.

I can't die! I don't want to die! But I know I _am_ dying, slowly, inexorably. I've given up hoping for a miracle. Now I'm just hoping the end will come quickly. But I know it won't; I know he'll force me to watch you die first, he'll force me to listen to you scream, because that way he'll punish both me and Father at the same time. I dream nightmares of blood and I hear him laughing, laughing, laughing as you die, slowly, and all I want to do is kill you so that the screaming will stop. Mother, forgive me…I learned the killing curse for Dumbledore, but if I fail, I will use it on myself. I can't bear to live knowing that my failure cost you your life and Father…his life, or his soul. It's all my fault. I can't do anything about it, I can't stop it, it's coming, like the tick of the clock, it never stops not for one breath not for one _second_ the screaming is coming nearer and the laughter and the death.

I can't do it, Mother, I can't.

And there's something else—I see him, quite often. The headmaster. And I think—I'm sure—he knows what I'm trying to do. But he just goes on smiling at me, Mother. Like he's cheering for me. It's ghastly. It's ghastly. I see his smiles in my nightmares, too. He smiles at me and then I _can't_ go through with it, but I know I _must_, but I _can't_. Mother, I don't even want to kill him. I can't think of anything else but killing him, but I don't _want_ to kill him. I don't even want him dead. But he goes on smiling, smiling, smiling, like a doll, like a grinning clabbert, like he's laughing at me too. He doesn't think I can do it, or maybe he does. Either way is equally horrible, equally unbearable.

I know the Dark Lord will show no mercy. Kill him or die. Kill him or die. Kill him or die. Kill him or die. Kill kill kill or die

_The letter ends here with a smudge and a trace of blood._

* * *

_Narcissa to Draco, dated 25 April, 1997_

Draco,

Please, you mustn't be afraid. You will not die. You will have help, I promise. If you need anything, go to Severus. Please, I know you want to do this yourself, but I can't bear to read those frightful things you write when you're on your own. For my sake, talk to Severus.

I love you. Remember that, please, Mother loves you. And Father loves you. Your father is strong; that place is terrible, but they will not break him, they will never break him. Above and beyond all else, whatever happens, we love you. Be brave, sweetheart, like Father. Be strong.

And eat. Do eat. Do sleep. I know everything seems hopeless now but there is _always_ hope, you _must_ believe that. And you are not helping yourself by not sleeping and eating.

You can do anything. I believe in you, with all of my heart. Remember what Father taught you? Take a step back. Take a breath. Believe that you can do it. Believe as much as Mother does and don't be afraid.

And I want you to know that Father and I aren't afraid to die. We would die for you without a second thought, without a _first_ thought, if we had to. Don't be afraid of that. Nothing bad will happen to you, I promise.

We love you, we love you so much.

Mother

* * *

_Draco to Narcissa, date unknown, sometime in May or June 1997_

Mother-

I've got it. We're going to live, and he's going to die.

I love you.

-Draco


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: For Amanda! 3**

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_Hermione Granger to Dr and Dr Granger, dated September 21, 1999_

Dear Mum and Dad,

I'm safe in London, staying at the Leaky Cauldron for now until I can get a place of my own. If you want to come visit me I'm in room number seven.

I've just had my first official day at work. A very nice young wizard named Michael Stamford helped me get started, showing me my office and introducing me around and everything. He invited me for a drink and really seemed quite disappointed when I told him no; I felt rather sorry for him.

I'm working in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, under Mr Amos Diggory. Along with a desk and a little name plaque I received a copy of the official Laws and Regulations, which is taking me some time to memorise due to the unusual legal phraseology. Mike told me that most people use it for a paperweight, or to hold up tipping desks, but I think he must have been joking, because of course it's absolutely _central_ to an understanding of the whole office. I've been reading it through and some of it is quite surprising, there are laws that haven't been addressed or altered in three hundred years, since the entire system had to go underground.

And really, some of the official policies are quite disgusting, especially concerning house-elves, you remember, I've told you. They're sentient beings but they haven't got any rights at all, like slaves, imagine that this goes on in a supposedly civilised society!

There are all sorts of rules about what a house-elf can't do, but only _one_ about what a human can't do to a house-elf: You're not supposed to order a house-elf to kill him-or-herself, but even then, the maximum penalty is "up to a five hundred galleon penalty and/or the immediate relocation of any house-elves still in possession of offender".

This isn't taking into consideration that house-elves have no way of countermanding a direct order of that kind; such an order would be tantamount to murder! And there's _nothing_ about _killing_ a house-elf yourself, which seems an egregious oversight.

I've been writing up a few addenda for the section on house-elves, and I'm hoping to convince Harry and Ron to help me get together a petition when they get back. The elves may enjoy their work but they ought to have at least some semblance of protection.

I've noticed several other discrepancies—even creatures classified as Beings have severe restrictions imposed on them, such as being prohibited from owning wands, which is racism and discrimination legalised. I've also been told there _still_ are laws in effect which curtail the rights of _Muggle-born witches and wizards_, ridiculous and incomprehensible any way you look at it. Perhaps I will address that once I have made myself heard on the issue of elves.

At least we will have a decent leader in charge, for a change. Things have finally settled down enough to hold elections for the new Minister of Magic. The last one was an Imperiused mouthpiece for the Voldemort administration. The two before that weren't anything special, either; more concerned with popularity than with doing the right thing. We're all for Kingsley Shacklebolt here, and I think he'll win. He's been Acting Minister for more than a year and the _Prophet_ just loves him; they're calling him "The Hero of the Wizarding War"; "a central figure in the much-lauded Order of the Phoenix" and "proof that the underdog can rise triumphant against the oppressive forces of evil".

Aside from the indignities in the Laws, I quite enjoyed my first day of work. Mr Diggory took me and a few other new recruits to subdue a Jarvey (a sort of large ferret that can talk) which had been terrorising a playground full of Muggle children. When I told him I was quite good at Memory charms he was impressed and let me perform them on several of the children while he wrestled the creature into a crate. Mike said that we were lucky because on his first day he had to help with an infestation of Chizpurfles and got bites all over him.

Ron's father, Mr Weasley, who works in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, stopped by my desk to say hello and give me some (sugarless) fudge that Mrs Weasley made for me. He said he was on his way to investigate a floating computer. He seemed quite excited as he'd never seen a "toplap" before and I suspect that he may take it home to examine it but I'm sure there's no law that says he can't because he writes the laws.

I also heard from Mr Weasley that Ron is coming home. Bill and Fleur just found out they're having a baby and Ron wants to congratulate them in person, but he has to tie up the business in Albania first and it's too far to Apparate. He and Harry will be flying in as early as next week. I think it was supposed to be a surprise, because I got an owl from Ron this morning and he didn't say anything about it, so I asked Mr Weasley not to let them know that he told me. I'm planning to act very shocked.

Along with a progress report I'm sure was supposed to go to Mr Robards, Ron writes (not nearly as neatly) that he and Harry have been very busy, that they have personally almost eliminated the threat (I'm sure the senior Auror with them had a _little_ to do), and that he misses me "more than expected"; he wishes I had gone with them to "do the smart stuff". Ginny assures me this is practically a proposal of marriage.

I miss him too. His letter made me laugh so I wasn't nervous going into work. I miss Harry, of course, but I find myself especially missing Ron. Ginny says it's just the opposite for her—she misses Ron a little and Harry almost more than she can bear. Isn't that odd?

Anyway, that's really all my news, after all I've only been away from home for a day and a half. Send your reply back with my owl because the postman can't see the Leaky Cauldron and certainly can't get into Diagon Alley and anyway I'd like my owl back!

Lots of love

Hermione

X


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